Zaire's POV
The bell above the café door gave a half-hearted jingle as we stepped inside. The three of us moved without discussion — old habit — scattering to separate corners of the room. No posturing, no show. Hidden in plain sight.
From his corner seat, Kaiden had the best view of the entrance. Theo settled near the window, angled to watch both the counter and the booths. I took the far wall, the one with the wide mirror, so I could see everyone without turning my head.
The job was simple: observe.
At least, that's what it was supposed to be.
I didn't expect her to walk in.
Seraphine moved through the doorway with sharp lines — not stiff, not timid, but controlled. Her outfit was calculated, the kind of crisp professionalism that makes people second-guess underestimating you. But when her gaze locked on the couple in the corner booth, I saw it.
Not fear.
A stillness.
The kind of stillness a fighter gets before a blow lands — or before they throw one.
I followed her gaze.
The man was polished, expensive — the kind who thought he invented confidence. The woman beside him was all teeth, bright hair, and glassy eyes that smiled just enough to be a performance.
Then he spoke.
The man — Jack, I caught from Jill's saccharine tone — didn't raise his voice, but his words carried a venom no etiquette could hide. Each phrase — "interesting choice," "less refined" — came wrapped in polite tones, but the rot beneath was obvious. Jill's comments were sugar-dipped barbs, meant to look harmless from a distance but sharpened to cut.
Seraphine's smile barely shifted, but I caught the signs — the smallest tightening at the corner of her mouth, the microsecond longer it took her to blink. She wasn't cowed. She was bracing.
This wasn't a meeting.
This was a hunt.
And the predators weren't us.
From the way they spoke to her, the pieces started to arrange themselves. He'd known her long enough to believe he could needle her without consequence. Jill had the loose, smug body language of someone perfectly at home in cruelty.
Not strangers.
Never strangers.
Then Jack's eyes flicked toward us, and I saw it — a pause in her breathing, the faintest recognition, like she'd just spotted something she couldn't ignore.
His next words — about "shifters" — landed like a challenge. I forced my spine not to stiffen. If he wanted to see an animal, I'd gladly give him one.
But Seraphine's jaw set, steady as stone. And for some reason, I decided to follow her lead.
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Kaiden's POV
From my booth in the corner, I'd already mapped the café twice over — exits, sightlines, blind spots. Habit.
Then she walked in.
Seraphine.
Head high. Shoulders squared. Every step measured, like she'd timed it to a silent metronome. Her outfit screamed professional — sharp lines, deliberate choices — but it was the way her eyes locked on that corner booth that caught me.
It wasn't the look of someone meeting a client.
It was the look of someone staring down a predator.
I followed her gaze to the man and woman. Polished. Perfect. Too perfect. The kind of fake you only get with money and practice. The man — Jack — had the posture of someone who thought the world owed him a standing ovation. The woman, Jill, was the accessory. Smiling just enough to say, I'm in on the joke.
And then he opened his mouth.
The first few words sounded polite if you weren't listening closely. But I was. And my wolf didn't need context — the condescension in his tone was enough to bare teeth over. "Shifters," "animals." The kind of words meant to remind someone of their place.
My hands tightened under the table until my knuckles turned white. I didn't know their history, but I didn't need to. I could smell it — that cold, metallic scent of someone trying to assert dominance.
Seraphine didn't flinch. She smiled.
And somehow, that was worse.
Because smiles like that don't come from confidence. They come from control.
From restraint.
From years of swallowing the urge to snap.
I'd seen enough to know what was happening here. This wasn't business. This wasn't friendly. This was him testing her boundaries just to see if they still existed.
And the longer I sat there, the more I wanted to be the one to break his.
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Theo's POV
I took the table nearest the door, back to the wall, coffee cup untouched. From here, I could see the whole café — the mirrored wall behind Zaire, the corner booth where Kaiden had a good angle, the narrow space between counter and entrance.
But my focus locked on Seraphine the moment she stepped inside.
Sharp outfit. Clean lines. That steady, unblinking calm of someone walking into an ambush they already knew was waiting. She spotted the couple in the corner, and I saw it — the shift in her frame. Not shrinking. Not stiffening. Just… locking in. Guard up.
Jack and Jill.
Names I caught without effort, like they wanted to be overheard.
They smiled, but their smiles didn't reach their eyes.
Jack's gaze wasn't the casual glance of a client assessing a planner. It was ownership — cold, cataloguing. Jill's smile was bright but calculated, the kind you use to twist the knife without leaving fingerprints.
I didn't know the story, but their body language told me more than words could. They weren't here to hire her. They were here to unnerve her. Push her. Test how much they could take without her snapping.
And she didn't snap. She sat there, pen in hand, nodding like this was the most normal meeting in the world. Her calm was precise, almost too precise.
When Jack's eyes flicked toward us, I caught the tiny pause in her breathing — the recognition. Like she'd just realized the security team wasn't just any team.
Then came the dig about "shifters" and "animals."
I didn't move, didn't blink. But my mind was already running scenarios. Not about fighting him — not yet — but about the fact he was speaking like he knew her, like he owned her, and wanted us to hear it.
The man's ego was a room all its own. And I had the sudden, unpleasant realization that he wasn't just testing her — he was testing us.
When Jack finally leaned back, his arm draped casually along the back of the booth, his smile was all teeth.
"You'll work together," he said smoothly, "to make sure my wedding is the best this city has ever seen. And since my precious friend here has such… instincts, I've instructed you to monitor her closely." His gaze flicked to Seraphine, then back to us, like he was staking a claim. "I'm sure you'll be very… thorough."
He stood, smoothing his jacket.
"I'll leave the staff to do what they're paid for," he added, voice dripping with self-satisfaction.
And then, almost as an afterthought, "Remember — you're mine until the day I don't need you anymore."
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